Birthdays, blogging and big black books

When I started this blog-thing a little more than a year ago, I can honestly say I didn't think I'd keep it up. Artwork always got put aside for errands, tasks and an excuse-du-jour. Most of my stuff is stashed in drawers, scattered piles and overstuffed shelves in my "studio"; in reality, a storage heap next to the kitty litter and weeks of unwashed laundry.

Artwork needs an audience. Since galleries and exhibition opportunities aren't lined up to keep me busy, I had thought this blog concept might be a great way to be the star of my own show yet still be private (and yes, for those of you who DO know me, I harbour a certain shyness about these sort of things). Failing that, the discipline of regular posting might coax some work out of me that would have remained forever in my head.

This post marks the last page in my sketchbook; and the first time I've ever "finished" a sketchbook in less than a year. But now the struggle begins: those first bright white pages of a new book are frightening. I don't have an artistic idea to save my life and I'm in the mood for a change.